The Tsar's Highlander
by PlantNerd92
Summary: Dimitri Antonovich Belikov is the Tsar of all Medieval Rus', and is too busy ruling a kingdom than to be interested in romantic pursuits. Rosemarie Hathaway is the Princess of the Highland Gaels, taken prisoner by the Prince of Kiev after the raid of her village in Scotland, and presented to the Tsar as a trophy. Will they become allies, or is the war just beginning? AU, AH.
1. Chapter 1: Captivity

**Author's Note: Hey Peeps! Nancy Here! So, I know I said no more Fanfiction, buuuuutttt, I'm doing an experiment. I currently don't have inspiration for my others, but I did get this idea here, and figured I would make it fanfiction, but enough of my own idea that I can edit, rewrite, and turn it into an original. But I feel like sharing for my loverly readers because you have all been so precious and supportive of my work. And Yes. I know Ibriham Mazur is Turkish, but everyone goes with Turkey. Janine is Scottish, and no one ever pays any attention to that part of Rose's heritage. But, let me know how you like this one, and feel free to give constructive criticism, because you are all my beta readers, as of now. As a Disclaimer, I do not own the characters of Vampire Academy. They belong to Richelle Mead. But, I do own this story. It came out of my head while I was bored, staring at the wall and shampooing my hair in the shower. Please do not plagiarize my work. But Please do enjoy and review!**

**Love,**

**Nancy**

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><p>The screams of the villagers sounded with the roars of the flames of the buildings as soldiers on horseback invaded the village, setting their wolves upon those who would not comply with their orders.<p>

The captain broke into the chieftain's hut, carrying a torch. The Chief did his best to fight him off, but the swordsmanship of the Kievan Prince was too great. With a disarming blow, the captain smote off the head of the Gael chieftain, and then searched the house; for the Chieftain's daughter, specifically. The Gaels would be paying for the insolence towards Rus. As it was, his soldiers were outside gathering the women and children up for slaves. He continues to search the house, until he sees a flash of white muslin. He smirked, stalking to the closet, the gold ring in his ear glinting from the fire in his torch. Creeping closer, he finally reaches the door, and yanks it open finding the girl crouched and with a snarl on her face.

"_Privyet, malen'kaya volchitsa_," he growled with a leer, catching her and pinning her arms as she lunged for him, tying them behind her back and throwing her over his shoulder as he stomped out of the hut, throwing his torch on the straw mattress, letting it set the house ablaze in a mocking funeral pyre for Ibriham, the chief of the Highland Gaels. The maid snarled and thrashed as he carried her gracelessly out of the house and to his horse, calling to the men.

"Gather the captives and move out! We have a fortnight to reach Saint Petersburg and not a moment to waste! As for this one, she'll make a fine, little trophy for our king!" He barked, as his soldiers laughed raucously, gathering their prisoners. The captain tried to set the girl on his mount, but she thrashed too much, spooking the horse. He snarled and backhanded her across the face, before tying her hands to the saddle with a long piece of rope, mounting his horse, and kicking the beast into a gallop, pulling the Gael princess towards the beach. Getting dragged behind a horse ought to break the brat's spirit, as well as the will of her people.

By the time they reached the shore where their ships had been docked, the Prince of Kiev had towed the Gael princess a little over a mile. He wondered dispassionately if his horse was dragging a dead body across the ground as he dismounted and walked to the prostrate figure, covered in dirt and mud and bleeding from the burn of the ground, but stopped, intrigued as the girl gave a cough and started to move, very slowly and painfully, causing him to smile cruelly as she managed to push herself up to her hands and knees on weak and trembling limbs, her nightgown now stained and ripped to shreds, revealing a rather delectable body beneath. But as protocol would have it, he was forbidden to touch her. She was a prize for the king to do as he pleased with.

The girl glowered as she spit blood and dirt out of her mouth, glaring hatefully up at her captor. Her will to survive was really quite remarkable. The captain's eyes widened slightly as her face pulled into an angry grimace as she slowly pushed herself up, slowly getting to her feet, her long, shapely legs shaking and weak from the trauma her body had been put through. She drew herself to her full height, impressive for a woman so young as she held her head high, the fire in her deep brown eyes and the proud set of her jaw never wavering a moment as she stared her captor down, willing the deaths of a thousand fires upon him. Beaten and battered as she was, there was a chilling regality in her demeanor, and the Prince of Kiev would love nothing more than to watch it be stripped away from her, shred by bleeding shred. He wanted her beaten to dust for the insolence of her clansmen, but she refused to yield. With every blow, she continued to rise and never back down.

She growled something, but it was in a language he could not understand. But he understood the tone in her voice, and recognized her cursing him to his destruction in her native tongue. The prince laughed, and yanked on the rope, dragging her onto the ships. The Tsar would have his hands full taming this she-wolf. He locked her in the brig as his men came in with their bounty. Women and children and young men with strong backs, bound in ropes and chains for the slave trades. They were all hauled onto the ships, the captives huddling around their princess for comfort and prayed as the men readied their oars and began sailing for home.

Never once did the Gael princess relax the vigil over her people. Many lives were lost this night. The people held captive had all lost a family member or another. She looked up and gazed to the moon, shining through the grate door to the brig, its pale light reflecting in the chocolate pools of her eyes, her dark brown hair still hanging down her back in its long plait. She would avenge her clan. She would avenge her father and her mother, she swore to the heavens. She would have her revenge on the Slavs and the Saxons for killing her family and pillaging her village.

As she gazed into the moon, the seed of hatred began to sprout within her heart, releasing its bitter poison.

The Prince of Kiev, on the other hand, brooded as he charted their armada of longboats, stroking his oiled beard, that gold ring glinting maddeningly in his right ear. Following the guidance of the stars and the Sister Moon to return to the motherland, he thought about the country's protocol.

As cousin to the king, he had seen the Tsar's disinterest in taking trophies from villages they had pillaged. When the princes would drink and boast of their exploits and conquests, the Tsar would calmly excuse himself to retire, and walk out of the room with a cool and almost bored expression on his face. Prince Ivan spat lazily into the water below as he remembered this with contempt. His cousin was nothing like Uncle. In fact, Dimitri was nothing like Uncle Anton had been, and couldn't decide whether Dimitri Antonovich Belikov was too soft to be the Tsar or not. It depended on how one looked at their ruling methods. While Uncle was ruled with an iron fist and disposed of any who got on his way, Dimitri was a peacemaker and a defender of his kingdom. He did not fight unnecessary wars and worked to encourage the growth and the prosperity of these lands, which Ivan begrudgingly respected him for. They had become a rich nation under his short rule so far, and it was almost unnerving to think of how much more good Dimitri could do on that throne. Though Ivan had wanted that rule, he did understand, however resentfully, that Dimitri handled the responsibility of the empire much better than he would have.

But damn it, the man needed a wife. They would need a strong heir in store for the throne, but Dimitri seemed to not have any interest in women for the time being, always so caught up in state affairs. Perhaps bringing him this little prize would help him realize why having an heir would be important, but Ivan could never accurately guess what was going through his cousin's head.

But maybe this Gael wildling would be just interesting enough to draw him out of duties of State and remind him that there was more to life than countless treaties and oversights of industry and food supply. She certainly had enough fire and beauty in her to entice even the most celibate of men. Of course, that was when the bruises and scrapes healed up. But she would make a fine diversion indeed.

After two weeks of sailing, and sneaking around the Danes into the Baltic Sea, they finally reached port in the Motherland. The soldiers shoved their prisoners around to the docks where they would be bartered for and sold among the nobles as serfs, but Ivan held on to their leader, for her destination was a three day's ride into Moscow. Once the others were in order, he and his troops headed for the capital, but not before acquiring a change in linens for their prisoner. Ivan threw the bundle of gray fabric at the girl and told her to change. Her shift had been so tattered that she may as well have been naked. And he couldn't have her catching ill and dying before the Tsar even got a look at her.

After she had changed, Ivan had put a pair of beaten felt boots on her bare feet, and wrapped her in a rough woolen cloak, before setting her on his horse and taking off. It was fairly easy to handle her, now that her battered and sleep-deprived body had given way to exhaustion in order to recover her strength. She slept with her head on Ivan's shoulder and his arms wrapped around her to keep her upright and seated on the horse.

When they finally reached the palace, Ivan dragged her inside and called the main housekeeper. The woman came to greet them, and he cruelly tossed the girl at her feet. She landed gracelessly in a heap, her wrists still bound with rope to keep from trying to escape, and slid across the polished marble floor slightly. She sneered up at him when she managed to look up, and spat, hitting him square in the face with surprising accuracy.

Ivan merely wiped the spittle from his face and dried his hand off on the sleeve of his breeches as he faced the housekeeper.

"Get her cleaned up and in a gown. Preferably something sheer. She's to be presented as a gift to the Tsar after dinner," he said coldly, and the housekeeper, Alberta, grabbed the girl up and hustled her off to the baths, unaffected by the display. The Prince of Kiev had been bringing the Tsar women for the past two years. This was nothing new.

"What is your name, girl?" the matron servant asked, dispassionately as she started yanking her clothes off. The girl tried to cover herself and started a great shouting in her native tongue, seemingly outraged. Alberta rolled her eyes. Of course she didn't speak the language. She slapped the girl to attention and pointed to herself, stating loud and clear.

"Alberta!" she stated, until she got the message across to the girl, who silenced, still scowling. Alberta pointed to her in question. She spit on the floor before her, but Alberta held her ground.

"Rose," the girl muttered, sulking as her glorified nursemaid shoved her into the great baths and started scrubbing her from head to toe. Rose cried out from the roughness on all of her injuries, but Alberta was relentless and scrubbed her down vigorously. She dumped a putrid-smelling concoction on her body to kill any lice or fleas, and continued scrubbing the dirt and dried blood off of her. Her skin had scabbed over, and greenish, yellow marks dotted her fair, golden skin. But, she was healing. Alberta started washing and combing her hair, and when Rose was finally clean, she dragged her out of the tub and wrapped her in a great sheet, sitting her down by the fire for her hair to dry. One of the maids combed sweet balsam oil into her hair, and perfumed her with the sweet, sharp scent of jasmine and cinnamon. Another painted her skin to hide the healing scrapes and bruises, and dusted her with gold powder, lining her brown eyes with kohl and painting her lips red as they arranged her long, dark tresses artfully down her back and laced with silver ribbons, before stuffing into an indecent gown of sheer, opalescent material, leaving nothing to the imagination as they wrapped her in a luxurious coat of wolf furs.

The maids marveled at the girl's exotic features, but primarily the near Amazon quality of her stature. She was a full head taller than any of them, and was fair to look on, but the intimidating scowl on her face didn't seem to be going anywhere, and she didn't speak or understand their language either.

Rose, however, wasn't amused by being painted and wrapped up like a new plaything for whomever the bastard her captors were planning on handing her over to. Not at all. Actually, she fantasized about throttling every one of the maids that fussed over her appearance, but she didn't want to risk having to be tied up again without ability to fight back and possibly escape.

She heard the chiming of the bell, and the sound of felt boots on the floor and her stomach dropped to her toes as the door burst open, revealing her captor, in the robes of a nobleman searching for her. Rose did not want to go with this man. Perhaps he had kidnapped her for his own purposes. She didn't know, nor did she care. She just wanted her freedom back.

Ivan looked over the woman with cool appraisal, before looking over to Alberta and nodding towards their captive. "Did you find anything out?" he asked, his voice harsh and hostile sounding to Rose. All of them sounded that way. It was the language, but this man was every inch harsh and hostile and she wanted very far away from him.

"Her name is Rose. She doesn't speak the common tongue. Will the Tsar be planning on teaching her the language of our nation, or will you, m'lord?" the housekeeper asked. Ivan scoffed.

"What does it matter whether she speaks in our tongue or not? She's a slave, collected specifically to warm the Tsar's bed, and nothing more. Why bother?" he sneered, before gripping Rose's arm and dragging her to the parlor that the Tsar and the Princes had gathered in after dinner.

"Cousin," Ivan began, getting the attention of the room. "I've brought you a little delicacy for you to enjoy, courtesy of the Highland Gaels," he said, his voice seeping beneath her skin like black tar, and she just wanted to claw him off of her and get away. He yanked her forward and threw her at the Tsar's feet.

"I give you Princess Rosemarie, the daughter and heir of Ibriham the Curst," came his heartless sneer, mocking her to humiliation.

Rose's temper flared. She was becoming aggravated with being dragged and thrown around like a hounded animal. With a snarl, she rolled to her back and leapt to her feet, swinging out a leg to aim directly at his groin.

Ivan knocked her down again easily, and the princes started laughing as they began to gather around her, pushing and prodding at her, kicking her when she tried to get up so she stayed prostrate on the floor, curling into a fetal position with her hands over her head, trying to protect herself.

"Enough!" a voice boomed, deep and richer than oak mead. She didn't understand what the man's voice had said, but he had blessedly made her assailants cease their cruel and humiliating attacks. She felt large, strong hands gently grip her under the arms and haul her to her feet, readjusting the cloak around her so it covered her body more adequately, before handing her over to a set of feminine hands with murmured instructions.

A maid quietly lead her out of the room and into the corridors leading to the Tsar's chambers as tears blinded and streamed from Rose's eyes.

She wanted to die.


	2. Chapter 2: Russkim Scoldings

Dimitri turned on his cousin, ordering the other princes to sit back down after sending Rose to take sanctuary in his chambers until he could figure out where to put her, now that she seemed to be his charge. He glared, tall and imposing as his steady brown eyes flashed with indignant fire, his chestnut hair hanging in loose waves about his shoulders. A staring match had started between the two men, one bloodthirsty and hostile, the other calm and merciful.

But the man of wisdom and mercy was filled with anger of the injustice of the girl's treatment. Ivan looked bored if not smug. It was simply his nature. He was a warrior. Killing and raiding was what he lived for. He enjoyed watching and causing suffering. The Prince of Kiev was a cruel brute that took delight in the basest pleasures, while the Tsar was one of gentle diplomacy, wisdom, and compassion. Dimitri had not the time to find a wife, because he was always out in the field or in a meeting room, fighting for the peace of his kingdom, and working alongside his people for the prosperity of his country. He could not be a ruler in good conscience if he did not also earn his bread alongside his citizens, or if he slept on a full belly while the children of Rus starved to their deaths in sleep.

And if he wanted a queen, he wanted one that could share that dream with him. Not some snotty courtier who desired only riches and luxury and found the lower class-men beneath her. That wasn't what he believed a queen should be.

But there were many who despised him for his ideals for the kingdom. There were many who believed they were superior to those beneath them, and did not believe that a slave or a servant should be equal in value or importance to a nobleman. They wanted the old ways of Anton the Terrible. 'Destroy anyone who opposes you.' Dimitri had always hated that. Most of all, he hated his father for the way he treated his mother and sisters. As it was, the Queen Mother kept to her room most days, for her frail body had taken too many drunken beatings, and had survived the births of all her children; the youngest two being very difficult and nearly costing her life. He wanted to change things for the better, but unfortunately, there were multiple traitors to the crown. If they attempted to go to the Danes, the Danes would gut them before they had a chance to speak. They weren't on friendly terms with the Slavs. So the spies and traitors went to anyone who would side with them before lopping off their heads, trying to stir enough hate to cause a war that Dimitri was desperately trying to avoid. He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, and let out a gruff sigh, before looking at his cousin.

"Walk with me, Ivan," he said, turning on his heel and heading out to the garden, into the crisp autumn air. Ivan followed the Tsar silently, his hand clasped behind his back as his face set into the familiar brooding expression so common to him. Once they were walking through the courtyards, Dimitri called his dogs, two wolf hybrids bred for their skill and hunting prowess, but also their more playful domesticated nature, and the large canines, one white and the other black came bounding out to play and chase and tumble about the lawns as Dimitri paced. He was incapable of staying still when he became agitated, and always had to be up on his feet and moving in order to process uncomfortable situations.

"Ivan, why must you continue with this?" he asked, catching Ivan off guard only slightly.

"Cousin?" the Prince of Kiev needed more clarification. Dimitri turned and faced him.

"The women! The raiding, the fighting, the killing, all of it! Why do you deem it necessary? We have chased the Norse out of our lands. We do not need to continue picking fights for impertinent reasons!" Dimitri all but shouted in his irritation. "Rus needs to save its resources and defend our borders against attacks, not to encourage them!" He continued to scold.

Ivan rolled his eyes. "_Da_, and what do you expect your soldiers to do? Stand around with no work to earn them bread? Have you not dreams of conquering further lands, gaining more power?" His cousin sighed.

"Our country is the greatest and largest of all the continents. We need to save our energy at preserving and improving what we have been blessed with. It is unwise to be so consumed with greed and lust that nothing can satisfy you anymore. The soldiers would return to their families and be able to work their lands and sustain themselves, and continue their family lines. Why do you feel you must constantly risk the lives of our people, our armies when it is unnecessary?" Dimitri pressed, trying to get his volatile, bloodthirsty cousin to see reason. It was hard to do when it concerned Ivan. Even Father had been hard to reason with. It seemed to be in the family line, but somehow those portions of character seemed to have blessedly passed him by.

"Are you saying we are expected to stand by and not hunt down villains guilty of treason to the High Crown?" Ivan asked in disbelief. "Are we expected to idly laze around as traitors gather forces against us?" he continued. Dimitri looked at him, his face stoic and expressionless.

"We keep our forces here to defend our kingdom if an attack is inevitable. I continue to make peace treaties, but if the case is that there is none to be bargained, or we are beguiled, than we stay here and we fight to protect our subjects. Not to earn slaves. Which brings up another matter, Ivan," Dimitri's face hardened. "Do you think I enjoy having you throw captive girls at my feet, and then being forced to watch the poor creatures be battered and humiliated all for the sake of fulfilling carnal desires?"

"You did not like your trophy?" Ivan asked with mock innocence. Dimitri growled.

"They are not trophies! They are living beings, persons with thoughts and emotions, and though I know you seem to enjoy it, they do not deserve the suffering you inflict on them!" For him to state this was rather controversial, as women were completely regarded as a man's property, but Dimitri had seen his poor mother beaten and humiliated by the cruelty of his father, and he could not bear to see anyone cause unjust harm to another living creature. Ivan studied him closely.

"Your father didn't seem to feel that way," He mentioned, knowing it was a sore subject for his cousin. Dimitri narrowed his eyes, and his voice lowered to an angry hiss.

"I am not my father," he growled, his imposing height towering even of Ivan. Ivan couldn't decide whether to laugh or not, his conflicting emotions towards the proactive and compassionate way his cousin ruled after Anton the Terrible. Dimitri had been given a notorious legacy and he was dead set on changing it. Ivan simply smirked, shaking his head.

"That much is obvious, my king. I'm still on the fence on my regards toward your differences… On one hand, I respect you for how much positive change you have made in Rus, but on the other, I can't decide if you are weak or too much of a coward to fight." He laughed when Dimitri looked at him as if he'd kicked his favorite dog and he held up his hands in surrender. "I'm sure I will come to respect you a great deal more than Uncle, but I suppose time will only tell. The present reveals only so much," Ivan assured him. Their bond was that of brothers, since they had none. Dimitri was blessed with sisters and Ivan an only child. No matter their choices, they were still blood, and blood did not betray blood.

Dimitri nodded, and turned and started to walk back to the castle. Ivan wasn't sure what was going on so he called out. "Where are you going?"

"To find out where to put your 'Present,'" he said shortly, still annoyed.

"You realize that you've never even been with a woman, and you've been the Tsar for eight years! Good God, man, you need to learn the love of a woman and find you a queen to give you an heir to the throne, should something happen to you!" Ivan protested. "Tsars need Tsarinas. Think about it. Just try it tonight and then decide if you still want to put it off!"

Dimitri rolled his eyes and shot an exasperated look back at his cousin. "I'm sure the girl is terrified out of her wits right now, and trying to woo her in that state of mind isn't exactly smart if I decide I want to get anywhere with her. And besides, all that makeup has done nothing to hide that she's been beaten into a bloody pulp and is in no condition to be wooed. Also, in case you haven't noticed, there is an impressive language barrier between here and confidently everyone within a five hundred mile radius of her. You already know how I feel about treating women. I will not touch her until she is healed and can at least understand what I am saying to her," he fired back before turning and leaving, calling his dogs and leading them inside on his heels as he made his way to his chambers.

When he entered the suite, he couldn't find her. Dimitri vaguely wondered if she'd run away, but his suspicions were quashed when he found her, curled in a ball in the corner of her room, fast asleep, with her head resting on her knees. His face softened as he heard the deep, steady sound of her breathing, no doubt feeling the kind of exhaustion that settled deep down into the marrow of her bones and made her whole body ache. He carefully took a wet cloth and began wiping the makeup from her bruised and scraped skin. When he saw the marks, he closed his eyes, furrowing his brow for a moment to compose himself, before continuing. Once he had her skin clean, he made sure the fur cloak was still securely around her, and then carefully lifted her into his arms, carrying her to the great bed, stuffed with the soft comfort of goose feathers. He laid her down and covered her in the soft satins, and a bedspread made of the thick fur of a great white bear from in the far north. Dimitri gazed at the girl, this Rosemarie of the Gaels, studying her features for a long while. Sleep had softened her expression, smoothing away hard lines of hate and making her look ages younger, innocent, pure…

Dimitri took a blanket and changed into a night shirt, before going into his library and making his bed on a dark leather sofa for the night. He would not destroy that purity… he would protect her from any man that tried. Curling up on the sofa so that he was cocooned in his blanket, he fell asleep.

Rose woke up with a start with the disorientation of not knowing where she was. When she realized it, she carefully looked around the dark room, finding the room empty but her, but she didn't know how she got to the bed. Her gut clenched when she realized it must have been the Tsar who had blown out the candles and tucked her in, but he was nowhere to be found. Why? Her instincts shouted at her to stay put, but her curiosity got the better of her.

Quietly climbing out of bed, she started to explore the suite. Rose supposed that, if she were to spend the remainder of her life in a gilded cage, this made a fine prison. She hated that she was here, especially by force. As she quietly padded through one of the doors with a sliver of gold light shining through the cracks, she entered a new room that appeared to be a library and a study of some sort, but her eyes widened dramatically. In all of her life, Rose had never seen so many books in her life. Carefully approaching one of the shelves, she lightly ran her fingers over the beautiful leather-bound books, embossed with strange gold symbols she could not read. But the familiar scents of leather, parchment, and ink filled her nose and brought a smile to her face.

A soft groan caught her attention, and she froze. When all was quiet again, she slowly looked around for the source of the noise, seeing a long figure wrapped in a blanked on the sofa near the fire that appeared to be on its way to extinction there in the hearth. Rose hesitated, but once again, her curiosity was too great to ignore, and she crept closer to investigate. Her head cocked to the side when she heard the figure snoring softly, and she reached out to gingerly pull the blanket away from the man's face.

What she saw, she wasn't expecting and a soft, but quick intake of breath was the only sound she made as she stared at one of the most beautiful male faces she had ever seen. Unlike the man who had kidnapped her, this one was clean shaven, with soft, golden brown hair that curled ever so slightly around his face. He had a sharp, clean scent that just barely hinted of spice, and she found it rather pleasant. Rose noticed some similarities between him and her kidnapper, but that was only the way the eyes were set near the nose. This man did not appear hostile to her. Probably, it was because he was asleep, but she wasn't sure. She'd always thought kings were stuffy, fat old men that smelled like rank fur, but the one sleeping before her had thrown her for a loop. Moreover, why he was lying out here on the couch instead of sleeping in his bed confused her even more. Rose watched him with soft eyes as his smooth, silky looking lips parted softly, his breath stirring a bit of hair that had fallen in his handsome, chiseled face. A thought invaded her, surprising her when she realized she wanted to see how those perfect lips would feel against hers. She considered the idea for a moment as she stayed crouched next to him, and reached out to lightly brush that tendril of hair out of his face.

As gingerly as she could, she leaned forward, and touched her lips to his. Rose had never kissed anyone before, and so the sensation was a little strange to her… but in a pleasant way, but she wasn't expecting to have a sleepy hand reach up and gently comb fingers through her hair and cup around the back of her neck, pulling her closer ever so softly as those soft lips began to slowly respond and move against her mouth, his face angling just enough to lightly catch her full, soft bottom lip between his, but not pushing any further. When he finally released her, Rose leapt back in alarm, her eyes wide, and her chest heaving with her startled breathing. The Tsar slowly opened his eyes, his deep brown eyes almost black in the dim light of the fire as he looked at her and slowly sat up, but making slow, controlled movements, to not alarm her.

"What are you doing out of bed? Go back to sleep," he urged gently, but seeing the confusion on her face, he sighed. This was going to be a rather difficult language barrier to overcome. Slavs typically never journeyed to the British Isles, mostly because they weren't exactly on friendly terms with the Danes and had to be very strategic in getting past Denmark and Sweden, so there was really not much opportunity to interact with the Gaelic nations. Rus had sometimes had emissaries from England, but they would sail to France, and then travel to Moscow by land if they were so inclined to visit.

He pointed to himself, and spoke. "Dimitri," he told her quietly. He didn't tell her Tsar of Rus, because he wanted to get through to her on an easier level first, if he had any hope of teaching her his native tongue.

"Do you speak English?" he asked, in English. Rose looked at him, recognition flaring in her lovely brown eyes, and seemed to search for the correct words, finally managing to speak.

"Ah… A… little?" she asked, unsure if that was the right answer, for it had been so long since she had used it. She only knew very basic, child's English. She was the most fluent in Gaelic. Dimitri looked relieved.

"May I teach you _Russkim_?" he asked slowly. Confusion crossed her face, so he carefully reached for a book and held it up, pointing at the Cyrillic writing inside. "_Russkim_, the tongue of my people," he clarified, and understanding slowly began to dawn on her, and she timidly nodded in affirmation. Dimitri smiled gently.

"Tomorrow. Go back to sleep, _Roza_," he spoke with a kind, fond smile. Rose suddenly looked at him, unsure.

"Why do… you… sleep… here?" she asked haltingly, trying to remember the words as she motioned to the library. Dimitri chuckled and began to lie back down on the sofa.

"I won't bother you. Go back to sleep, and we'll find you a room of your own in the morning," he urged her, before rolling on his side so he faced the back of the couch, his back to her as he pulled the blanket around him again.

Rose looked at him for a long moment, trying to understand why this man was so different from the princes who had humiliated her in front of him earlier, the ones he had stopped. She hadn't gotten a good look at him until now, but she had recognized his voice. She wanted to ask why he had helped her, but it seemed he was ignoring her for the night. With a sigh, Rose got to her feet and went back to the bedroom, curling up in the bed and trying to calm her noisy thoughts so she could fall asleep. But at last, her eyes closed and she drifted off, feeling safer than she previously had been.

Until tomorrow… Whatever that would bring….


	3. Chapter 3: Overly Decorated

**Author's Note: Okay, I must apologize for taking so long on this chapter. My job has sapped the majority of my energy and I'm trying to get over a cold, so I've been too tired to write and had to go straight to bed as soon as I would get home, since I work this awful swing shift. Being an adult is lame. Don't do it. I hope you had a Happy Thanksgiving holiday, you Americans and Canadians, and the rest of you, a happy week. Enjoy chapter three! I'll try to write and post the next one as soon as possible, but cut me some slack and try to be patient and loyal at the same time. My job is tough and unforgiving. Postage might not come as often as I would like to do it. Please enjoy chapter three and review with constructive criticism and positive feedback. LOVE!**

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><p>When Rose finally managed to pry her eyes open, the sun was high in the sky, signaling it was roughly half-past noon. Her exhausted body demanded more sleep to restore her strength, and she hadn't remembered the time difference. Stretching with a yawn, she pushed the bed-covers back and climbed out of bed. Hearing the clink of a glass and what sounded like a decanter in the study, Rose followed her ears, thinking maybe Dimitri would wish to begin teaching her his language. They could at least communicate vaguely in English, but he was even more fluent a speaker than her own pitiful, broken attempts.<p>

Now she kicked herself for not paying more attention to her studies, but she had always preferred going out to play than to sit in front of parchment and ink. Her father had smiled fondly and allowed it, feeling that it was more important to associate with her people than to be locked away with nothing but books and tutors. And when her skills as a tracker and a huntress became renowned among the Gaels, it had done him proud. Ibriham delighted in taking her on the hunts along with him and the other nobles and their sons, much to her mother, Janine's dismay. He had been so sure her beautiful face and practical interests might snare a fine husband to rule their clan at her side. But little did he know at the time: the Slavs should carry her off and kill him before she could get the chance.

Rose's feet lightly padded over the cool wooden floor and bear skin rugs as she crept quietly into the study where Dimitri seemed to be finishing his lunch and looking over a mound of paperwork. His back was to her, so he wouldn't see her arrival, but she took a moment to admire the way the sun shone brightly through the windows, casting a glowing sort of halo about his soft, golden-brown hair. Rose smiled when she thought of his hair as the same toasty brown as the crust of rye bread, freshly baked on the hearth, or the honey tones of pungent amber ale. Those lustrous, chestnut tresses fell just past his shoulders with a gentle curl, balancing the taut muscles of his back that she had just barely made out where they hid beneath his shirt. She had noticed the way it had softened his beautiful, angular face, and she longed to slowly pull her fingers through those silken strands only the night before when she had kissed him as he slept.

Rose blushed when she remembered the way he had kissed her back as he slowly began to waken, and the warmth that had spread through her at his response. How had she become such a minx of a girl? Composing herself, she decided to announce her presence, feeling his name roll off her lips. She understood he must be the sovereign of this land, but she only knew him by a name.

"Dimitri." The word felt like honeyed silk on her tongue. It sounded different than the way he had said it, because of her accent, but the effect hadn't been any less decadent.

She watched as Dimitri put his quill down, and stood, before stepping away from his desk and turning around to greet her… but as his gaze found her, he froze. Confusion seized Rose as she saw Dimitri's amber eyes widen until she was sure they would fall out of his face. She blinked. She could have sworn they were nearly black in the darkness of last night, not the brilliant, coppery-gold they were now.

Rose began to feel more and more that this man was the most beautiful human she had ever met… like a Greek Adonis… but then she didn't understand why he was staring at her.

Dimitri groaned, his eyes rolling heavenward, but staying on the ceiling. Rose was confused but when she looked at her appearance, she saw why and it caused her cheeks to flush scarlet with embarrassment as she tried to cover herself better. Dimitri called for someone as he went to pick up his dressing robe of olivine green silk and draped it around Rose's shoulders. His intent was to cover up her willowy frame that was obviously visible beneath her silver chiffon gown, and make her modest the best he could without looking. She slapped his hands away, knowing she could do it on her own, now that she had something to cover herself with. She'd forgotten the fur cloak in the bedroom. Rose had never worn anything like this before, and had forgotten she was indecent at all, in spite of the Prince's intent to make her Dimitri's concubine.

Looking up at where Dimitri had turned with his back to her, she huffed, raking her dark curls back from her face with her fingers.

"I'm covered now," she snapped at him, and he sighed, shaking his head, before turning to face her, trying to hide the rosy glow that had invaded his cheeks. Rose raised an eyebrow, suddenly amused by how terrible he was blushing, so much that his sun-kissed face was flaming red, from his neck to his forehead, to the tips of his ears. She bit her lip, trying to repress her giggles, but it manifested in a snort, which turned into hilarious, hiccuping chortles as she squeezed her stomach and fell back onto the sofa, unable to hold in her laughter.

It seemed to only make Dimitri's embarrassment worse, but she could have sworn she saw him fighting a smile as he looked away from her. She could see the corners of his mouth quivering with the sheer willpower it took to attempt to remain dignified, and somehow it only made her laugh harder.

Rose supposed the hysterical stress of recent events had begun to creep into her sense of reason and chip away at her decorum.

The woman who had dragged her around and used her as a human pincushion the night before bustled in, bobbing a curtsy to Dimitri and looked at Rose. Instantly shutting up, Rose bit her lip as a few words were exchanged between the Lord of the house and who she supposed was the housekeeper, before he turned to her, switching to English.

"_Roza,_ this is Alberta, the royal housekeeper. Please go with her. She will take you to the seamstress to have you dressed in more… appropriate… attire. I have some business to take care of, but I should be finished when you return, and then we may begin our lesson, _da_?" he asked, watching her intently. Rose took a moment for her mind to catch up with what he told her, and she nodded. However, she paused, and motioned to the green dressing robe she was currently concealed in with her eyes, asking him the silent question. Finally, he smiled.

"Take it with you. You may bring it back when you are finished… As you can see, I am decently clothed," he said with a playful twinkle in those lovely honey eyes, bringing another blush to Rose's cheeks. It wasn't fair for him to be so beautiful. She wanted to hate him like the other princes who had treated her so cruelly the night before, but she could not because of his gentle kindness towards her. Instead, she gave a swift nod, and followed Alberta out of the royal suite and down to the seamstress. Her measurements were taken, and she was given undergarments, and then dressed in an array of fabrics of all different colors and patterns, furs, silks, brocades and damasks of reds, blues, greens, black, silver, and gold.

Rose felt like an over-decorated confection.

As the seamstresses began to create their orders, Alberta dressed Rose in a deep red skirt, trimmed with a wide black and gold border, painted with rosebuds, and fitted with a black bodice over the long, white linen sleeves. Combing her waist-length, walnut brown hair, and arranging it into a long thick braid, Alberta tied Rose's braid with a crimson ribbon and draped it over her shoulder, before placing the red and gold_ kokoshnik_ on her head. At last, Rose finally looked like a respectable Russian woman, as she was considered to be the Tsar's concubine.

Rose knew better though. She pulled on the beautifully embroidered _valenkis_ over her feet to protect her toes from the cold of the indoor and outdoor elements, and stood, ready to be escorted back to the Tsar, either for their lesson, or for him to figure out what to do with her in the meantime. When Alberta returned her to the royal suite, Dimitri was still busy, so Rose respectfully went to the sofa to sit with her hands in her lap as she waited for him to tell her otherwise.

Dimitri had been in the last stretch of his paperwork for the day, and was reviewing the list of exports and imports to Rus' when his new charge arrived. He was acutely aware of her as she moved to the sofa and sat down without uttering a peep. He smiled when he smelled her perfume lightly floating on the air, but he waited to look at her. Dimitri waited until he could feel that she wasn't watching him to steal a glance at her, feeling his heart give a silly flutter. She was so beautiful, dressed as one of his people, the bold, rich colors suited to her striking coloring. Rose was a breathtaking beauty normally, but Dimitri felt she was even more so as she sat there, gazing about the library furnishings looking every bit a Russian princess. Even if she was the princess of the Gaels, Dimitri decidedly felt that she belonged right where she was… here with him…

He quickly returned to his work when she turned back to look at him, hoping she hadn't caught him staring.

"_Ty vygljadiš' ochen' krasivya,_" he spoke to her, seeing her startle out of the corner of his eye, and smiling, but not looking up from his paperwork as she stared at him. Rose was quiet, watching him intently, as if she was expecting him to clarify what he said, but Dimitri was taking a strange, mischievous delight in keeping her on her toes.

"I don't understand," she piped up, telling him flatly. Dimitri grinned and continued making notes on his work.

"_Ty vygljadiš' ochen' krasivya,"_ he repeated. "You look very pretty. _Ty_ means 'You', _vygljadiš'_ is a form for 'look', _ochen'_ means 'very' but the literal translation to English is 'big', and '_krasivya'_ means 'pretty.' _Krasivaja_ would mean 'beautiful' if you were speaking to a female, but if you were speaking to a male, you would say '_krasivyj'_ for 'handsome.' Does that make sense?" Dimitri asked after the brief explanation. He finished his paperwork for the day and gathered it up neatly and put it all in its proper place before turning to look at her, smiling with encouragement.

Rose said nothing, and only had a dazed expression on her face, clearly indicating that she hadn't had a clue to any of the malarkey he had just said. Either that or she was still trying to wrap her head around the foreign phrases. When she finally looked at him and shook her head negatively, he chuckled and stood up, stretching his long legs. He made his way over to one of the shelves loaded with books, and pulled a few down, bringing them to the sofa she sat in, as well as a tablet of parchment, a quill, and an ink-pot. The books were on elementary letters, books he had spent hours of his childhood poring over as he learned to read and write as a boy. He figured it best to start from scratch, going from the bottom and up to the more advanced lessons at her set pace.

Dimitri beckoned Rose to his desk, smiling. Timidly, as if she were afraid he could turn into a three headed, man eating monster, Rose stood and carefully made her way over to Dimitri, where he pulled out the chair, and pushed it in after he convinced her to sit. He pulled up an extra chair for him to sit in as he pulled out the letter book, and an old wax tablet and stylus to practice drawing her letters in. He opened the book, and began to teach her each letter, its shape, its name, its sound, and how to remember it, a gentle smile on his face each moment he spent with this peculiar girl. Rose made it so easy to forget the weight of his responsibility as the Tsar of all Rus'. She enabled Dimitri to really live in the moment as he studied her, intrigued by her many expressions and reactions to her environment. There was never a moment he became bored when he was with this devastatingly beautiful woman. Even if his intent wasn't the same as the princes had hoped, he was thoroughly diverted by a feminine face for the first time in years.

As Dimitri taught Rose her letters, he was enjoying himself far too much to notice the spy watching through their door.

"What do you mean? I brought the chit back for him to bed! Not to have him teach her nursery songs!" Ivan roared, knocking over his meal tray as he paced the room. The spy's master, Prince Lucas of Novgorod chuckled as he picked at the bread and salted tomato that had been served with his caviar and vodka. Lucas's long black hair was tied back at the nape of his neck with a leather thong, and his thin, pencil mustache was neatly trimmed above his upper lip, curled lightly at the ends.

Lucas enjoyed watching Ivan squirm. For a man so hostile, he sure could get worked up and uncomfortable, Lucas noted with his cool, calculating blue eyes. But, it was to be expected with one so unstable as Prince Ivan of Kiev, and the General Commander of the Imperial army.

"Cousin, allow him to have his fun with his new plaything. Who knows? Perhaps the minx will entice him to the bedroom with enough time. Women do need to be wooed before they are bedded. You know that as well as any, after all…" he drawled, before a wicked smirk tugged at his thin lips. "Well, willingly anyway. I know you have no qualms against forcing them against their will and seem to enjoy it and regale us with your boasts. It does make the Tsar quite ashen in the face when you do. He's too much of the Queen Mother's son to behave the way a red-blooded man like you would do given the circumstance," he chuckled cruelly, before throwing back his vodka.

Ivan ignored Lucas's attempts to jibe at him, continuing to pace the parlor. Dimitri needed an heir. The sooner the better, whether it was by an unmarried concubine or a new Tsarina; either way, they needed a child to help secure the outcome of the monarchy. Ivan knew he ought to be patient and let things be so they could grow at their own pace, but he hated waiting.

Unfortunately, the choice was out of his hands. Dimitri had the final say, and it was his decision to find a wife, or to sleep with the girl and get her with child.

"You are going to wear a hole in that rug, Cousin. Come and drink with me," Lucas called lazily as he broke off a chunk of his bread and slathered it with buttery caviar and lemon, and eating it with his tomato slices, as if he hadn't a care in the world but for how delicious his meal was.

Annoyed with Lucas's nagging, Ivan stomped over to the chaise that Lucas lounged in, and swiped the bottle of vodka, and chugged half the bottle before slamming it back on the table impudently. "There! Happy? Now shut up," he snapped, before going back to stalking. Vodka wasn't his favorite. He preferred a glass of Gin over the clear, flavorless liquor, but Ivan was tired of Lucas whining at him to sit down and keep him company.

Actually, he was certain he'd only feel better after killing something, but Dimitri was currently too preoccupied by a fresh, buxom beauty in his chambers to consider a hunting trip, and Lucas was too pathetic to get his hands dirty. He growled, before stalking off to the rooms he stayed in, calling for one of the courtesans to keep him company for the rest of the night.

"That was very good, Rose," Dimitri said with an encouraging smile as Rose finally managed to recite the Cyrillic alphabet correctly as she drew the letters into the wax tablet for the umpteenth time. It had taken her a while to finally get her mouth to form the sounds properly, and the way her accent distorted them had quietly amused him, for he didn't want to embarrass her by saying anything. He gently patted her shoulder before calling for supper and spiced tea, knowing the warm liquid would soothe her tired throat.

When Dimitri finally turned around, he chuckled softly when he saw his charge slumped over the desk, her gentle breath lightly fluttering the stacks of parchment as ink began to smudge her face. He shook his head, feeling the steady warmth of affection swelling within his chest as he watched Rose's beautiful, but sleepy features. He needed to find a more permanent place for her to sleep after he managed to get some food in her, but she was so lovely, even with her head resting on his desk and her face getting smudged with ink, that Dimitri wasn't sure he possessed the heart to disturb her. Perhaps, he could spend the night in his library for another night and put her to bed without waking her. Her poor, tired body had not fully recovered, but Dimitri admired the brave face she had worn as they studied, even though she struggled to keep from nodding off in the chair.

He sank into the sofa, and watched her, content not to disturb her as they waited for a servant to bring up something for them to satisfy their bellies with before bed, and he sighed. Dimitri couldn't understand why Ivan would ever think he could just use this woman as something to pass the time. She was helping him pass time all right, but there was so much to discover about her, that much was clear. Rose was an enigma with so many different facets and colors that it would take a very long time for Dimitri to discover them all…

Perhaps it would be worth the wait and the time spent becoming acquainted with all of those beautiful glimmers of emotion hidden just beneath the surface of her angelic face…

He became lost in his thoughts as he watched her, wondering what she must be feeling as she was held captive in this place, so far from her world, and isolated from her people… Dimitri wondered what she thought of him. He flinched when he realized she must be terrified of him, and it left a cold, hollow feeling inside the pit of his stomach. Afraid was something he didn't want her to be with him…

But, as he thought of it, he was almost certain he had felt those perfectly soft, plump lips pressed to his last night… Certainly, if that kiss hadn't been a dream, Rose would never have made so forward of a move if she was afraid of him… would she?


End file.
